


Grime

by HappyHour



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: Depressing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Authorial Abuse, M/M, Other, Prostitution, Sex workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyHour/pseuds/HappyHour
Summary: Sideswipe has to remember that the clients lie. He has to remember that it isn't his fault. He has to remember that Sunstreaker will be there for him, no matter what happens.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Grime

Sideswipe felt sore all over. Each step he took was slow but without any deliberation. He was simply trying to stay upright as he stumbled through the hallway, blurred optics barely able to read the numbers next to the door. When he passed a new number, he repeated it low to himself, willing himself to remember them. It was simpler than actually counting down how many doors he had left before he would get back to his quarters.

Not his. Theirs. Sideswipe stopped walking, and slowly turned his head to look back at where he had been walking. There was nothing to be seen, which surprised him. He would have bet he was leaking with each step he was taking, fluids and energon dripping down off him to trace the walk of shame he was taking.

It took him a minute to steel himself to continue his walk. He felt a bit better, so he didn’t need to mumble. He could even think of the door after the next door, the door he had to pass before he came back to his quarters. Their quarters. Sunny would be waiting.

Except not really. Sunny wouldn’t show any sign of having been waiting for Sideswipe. He always looked like he didn’t care. It stung. Sideswipe cared about his twin, but sometimes he wondered if Sunstreaker really cared for him in return.

No, Sunstreaker did care. Sideswipe just had to remember that people lied to him. They wanted him feeling unwanted so they could do more things with him. He never asked Sunstreaker how his experience was, but in return Sideswipe did not say anything about his ordeals.

It was better this way.

Sideswipe managed to stop in front of the right door. He pressed his palm flat against the lock and the doors opened. He wondered just how many did have that access to the room that he and his twin were supposed to call their safe haven. But there was no such thing. He stumbled in, waited for the doors to close, and then looked around. No Sunstreaker in sight. There was no sound from the wash racks, so he wasn’t there. Sideswipe groaned low as he stepped towards the small berthroom.

Sunstreaker was there. He was sprawled out on his berth hogging all the space, deep in recharge.

“Wake up Sunny.” Sideswipe muttered low. Sunstreaker didn’t stir. So Sideswipe took up his price from subspace. An energon cube, the thick liquid barely sloshing, showing just how rich it was. He tossed it on Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker whined low, his optics going from offline to dim light.

“I want to recharge Sunny.” Sideswipe pleaded. He was tired, exhausted, and all he wanted to do was to forget the last couple of hours, the pain, the lies, the shame. He had gotten an energon cube out of it, and it would last him and Sunny for a couple of days.

“Find your own. You’re filthy.” Sunny muttered.

“I don’t want to recharge on the floor.” Sideswipe didn’t have the energy to yell or to cry. The exhaustion was hitting him hard. But Sunstreaker just rolled over, turning his back on Sideswipe.

Sideswipe just stood there. He didn’t say anything, it took too much energy and effort. He looked back to the common room, at the unwelcome floor that waited for him there. He couldn’t just crawl into the berth. Sunstreaker would push him off and then he would hurt even more.

“I hope you choke on the energon.” Sideswipe said and turned around. But Sunstreaker had been right. He was filthy. The feeling of dried fluids clinging to him, the perspiration from the strained positions he was put through, the feel of those hands all over his body, the feeling of gaped orifices in him like if his mouth had never closed to begin with.

He was filthy. He knew that the washracks wouldn’t help. But it was better than the floor in the common room. He didn’t know how many could unlock the door to their room, and he didn’t want to come off as inviting.


End file.
